PROJECT ASHABI
African Stories. Limitless Worlds.
PROJECT ASHABI
African Stories. Limitless Worlds.
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Complete unabridged public-domain literary work from the Project Gutenberg archive.
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Transcribed from the 1922 Hutchinson and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
_Author of_ “_The Incredible Honeymoon_,” _etc._
_LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO._ _:: PATERNOSTER ROW ::_
To my dear Daughter in law and Daughter in love, GERTRUDE BLAND I, E. Nesbit, dedicate this book
_Jesson St. Mary’s_, _Romney_, 1922.
PAGE THE RETURN 9 FOR DOLLY 12 QUESTIONS 13 THE DAISIES 14 THE TOUCHSTONE 16 THE DECEMBER ROSE 17 THE FIRE 18 SONG 21 A PARTING 22 THE GIFT OF LIFE 23 INCOMPATIBILITIES 24 THE STOLEN GOD 25 WINTER 28 SEA-SHELLS 29 HOPE 30 THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN 31 THE SKYLARK 32 SATURDAY SONG 33 THE CHAMPION 35 THE GARDEN REFUSED 37 THESE LITTLE ONES 38 THE DESPOT 39 THE MAGIC RING 40 PHILOSOPHY 41 THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME 42 MAGIC 43 WINDFLOWERS 44 AS IT IS 45 BEFORE WINTER 46 THE VAULT 47 SURRENDER 49 VALUES 50 IN THE PEOPLE’S PARK 51 WEDDING DAY 52 THE LAST DEFEAT 53 MAY DAY 54 GRETNA GREEN 55 THE ETERNAL 57 THE POINT OF VIEW: I 58 THE POINT OF VIEW: II 59 MARY OF MAGDALA 60 THE HOME-COMING 62 AGE TO YOUTH 63 IN AGE 64 WHITE MAGIC 65 FROM THE PORTUGUESE. I. 66 FROM THE PORTUGUESE. II. 68 THE NEST 70 THE OLD MAGIC 71 FAITH 72 THE DEATH OF AGNES 73 IN TROUBLE 74 GRATITUDE 76 AT THE LAST 77 FEAR 78 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT 79 A FAREWELL 80 IN HOSPITAL 81 PRAYER IN TIME OF WAR 82 AT PARTING 83 INVOCATION 84 TO HER: IN TIME OF WAR 85 THE FIELDS OF FLANDERS 86 SPRING IN WAR-TIME 87 THE MOTHER’S PRAYER 88 “INASMUCH AS YE DID IT NOT” 91
THE grass was gray with the moonlit dew, The stones were white as I came through; I came down the path by the thirteen yews, Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews. And when I came to the high lych-gate I waited awhile where the corpses wait; Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.
The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight, The owls’ spread wings were quiet and white, The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh, And all about were the rustling shy Little live creatures that love the night— Little wild creatures timid and free. I passed, and they were not afraid of me.
Arthur Conan Doyle
